


His Dearest Wish

by Lizlemler



Series: Inaugural Mystrade Series (titles are hard.  I'm working on it) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kisses, Food Porn (sort of), M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Canon compliant (eventually), Pre-divorce Lestrade, Some profanity but not much, The Little Prince - Freeform, how Greg & Sherlock met (as told to Mycroft), pre-canon Greg & Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlemler/pseuds/Lizlemler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DI Gregory Lestrade has made a decision.  It's time to face reality and move on.  His marriage collapsed years earlier and after forgiving his wife for her infidelities and trying to find a way, unsuccessfully, to make it work, he has finally had enough lies, deceit and disappointment.  Starting afresh, he files for divorce and moves to a new flat.  Looking forward to what the future may hold, he celebrates with a housewarming party, inviting all the usual suspects. The party is a huge success and Greg has a little fun at Sherlock's expense (but only a little and the smug git deserves it anyway).  The real fun begins however after the party has broken up and everyone has toddled off home. What's this?  A late arrival?  Whoever could it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EventHorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/gifts).



> Okay Mystrade shippers, I am throwing my hat into the proverbial ring. Having become thoroughly obsessed with all things Mystrade over the last year or so, I have written the first installment of what will be an ongoing series. This is my inaugural Sherlock fic. I hope you like it. With your kind indulgence, I'd like to express my immeasurable gratitude to my favorite Mystrade writers. The first chapter is dedicated to EventHorizon, whom has gifted me with so many laughs, tears and feels of all sorts. There are truly no words to fully express my appreciation for (?)her stories, her characterizations of our boys. (Seriously, if you've never read them, do so immediately). Her plots are always unique, creative and downright magical. She(?) writes KidLock like no other, in a good way. My humble offering cannot hold a candle yada yada yada. This first multi-chapter fic is complete, all six chapters, so posting will proceed apace. I am curious to see what response this will bring. Do please comment. Please please.

The First Change

 

When Greg saw the notice for a screening of The Sound of Music at the old movie theater not far from his flat, he hoped he’d get a chance to attend.  He rarely made plans in advance, at least not as far as securing tickets for a movie or show beforehand.  After missing five such social outings in a row, he had to concede that it was better to wait and hope his job wouldn’t interfere and that a ticket might still be available for an aging copper.  After all, it wasn’t as if he had a wife to try to keep happy any longer.  And he really couldn’t afford to keep throwing bad money after good.  His finances had taken a substantial hit when he’d secured his divorce.  He wasn’t destitute by any means, having made some rather savvy investments over the years, but he wasn’t getting any younger either.  Fortunately, Sharon hadn’t been unreasonable and the attorneys had hashed out a settlement agreement they both could live with more quickly than he’d expected.  Once the emotional decision had been made, once he’d finally had to accept it was time to move on, all the other choices had been much easier. 

Finding a place to live in a nice neighborhood that would be comfortable enough until he figured out something a bit more permanent was much less of a challenge than anticipated.  After that, transitioning to his new life proceeded almost without deliberation.  He found packing up his possessions, deciding what to keep, what to sell and what to simply let go of surprisingly therapeutic.  By the time he moved in to the ground floor flat of the renovated mansion in Kensington, he was actually feeling excited at the prospect of having a new place to lay his head at night, a place with no connection to his married past and subsequently no troubling memories waiting in the corners.  It was a real fresh start and his new home was more than he could ever have hoped for. 

Apparently the long- time owner had decided to make a number of upgrades and renovations and put the place on the market.  When Greg’s estate agent had called excitedly requesting he make time to come see it as soon as possible, he’d made an appointment to meet the man later that afternoon.  Arriving at the address Bancroft had texted, Greg believed a mistake had been made.  There was no way he’d be able to afford even a closet in this neighborhood, much less a whole room, never mind an actual apartment. Approaching the front door, Greg self-consciously patted his warrant card in his inner jacket pocket, expecting to need to reassure anyone he encountered that he wasn’t a creeper and not dangerous.  Having spent the morning at a fresh crime scene with the great consulting infant, he wanted to double check that his card hadn’t been pilfered yet again. 

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed the card.  His agent practically bounded through the door, nearly vibrating above ground in his excitement.  With a reverence bordering on awe, Bancroft ushered Greg inside and described in his professional voice this most amazing opportunity that The Detective Inspector would surely want to take advantage of.  Standing in the large entryway, Greg’s eye traveled to the sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors as he listened to Bancroft explain that the owner wanted someone trustworthy and with security experience to move in as quickly as possible and was willing to offer a moderate stipend for the right individual as long as they were willing to ‘keep an eye on the place’.

“What, you mean the owner wants to pay someone to live here?” Turning to look at Bancroft, Greg saw past him to a large sitting room with a glowing polished wood floor and a large fireplace on the far wall.  From the pattern of late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the back of the house, Greg knew there must be a large window along the back wall of the room, possibly even a door out to the back garden. 

“The upper floors have yet to be modernized and apparently there are even plans to redesign the space out back before it’s put on the market.  The owner wants someone living here while the renovations continue.”

“How long could that take?  I don’t want to have to move again in two months.”

“He’s prepared to offer a 12 month lease.”  Bancroft could hardly contain his glee.

Greg shifted his attention back to the estate agent. “A one year lease here with no rent to pay? Who is this paragon?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.  I received a call from his representative, a mister Alistair Jordan.  Apparently the owner travels extensively and has left most of the decisions in the hands of a select team of craftsmen and artisans.  Mr. Jordan has offered to answer any questions you might have at your earliest convenience.  If you’re interested, of course.” 

Doing his best to set aside his natural skepticism, Greg took the five steps needed to cross the entryway and step in to the sunlight flooded sitting room.  It was a spacious room with a large bay window along the front wall and a back wall made almost entirely of glass.  It was difficult to see much of the view past the windows due to sun glare but Greg could make out some grey paving stones just beyond. Aware that Bancroft was hovering just a few feet away, anxiously awaiting his response, Greg pivoted in his direction.  “Well I guess it couldn’t hurt to take a look around.” 

His voice barely above a whisper, Bancroft breathed, “Wait until you see the kitchen.”  Thirty minutes later, Greg was on his way back to the Yard, Mr. Jordan’s card in his pocket.  After having been shown around the first floor, Greg had to admit the place was spectacular and the thought of living there rent free for a year was terribly appealing.  He’d promised the now almost dangerously excited Bancroft that he would contact Mr. Jordan as soon as possible and arrange a meeting.  He needed to be able to look him in the eye while determining if this was a legitimate offer and that there were no catches or strings attached before making a final decision. 

Mr. Jordan had been expecting his call.  Over the phone he assured Lestrade that it was a bona fide opportunity, all completely legal and above board.  Still, Greg needed a bit more time to consider and asked to meet with the man the next day.  Wrapping up the last of the paperwork surrounding his latest solved case, Greg made his way back to what would soon be his old place.  He stopped at his favorite Thai place for a double order of spring rolls, not wanting a heavier meal so late at night.  As it was, he could only finish one, paired with a cold pint while half listening to CNN International.  His thoughts kept drifting back to what might very well become his home for the next year.  If it worked out, Greg would have more than enough time to find a place of his own as well as the chance to save substantially towards a down payment.

The meeting with Mr. Jordan had been…surprising.   The man was about ten years older than Lestrade, with a thick mane of pure white hair, a slightly swarthy complexion, gleaming white teeth and eyes the color of peridot.  Eyes that clearly showed his appreciation for Greg’s handsome countenance and trim physique.  His manner, while thoroughly correct and above reproach, was also a tiny bit rogue-ish, falling just this side of overt flirting.  He reminded Greg of Cary Grant, a bloke he’d always thought was more than a bit attractive, even as he’d aged.  Greg was flattered by the attention.  It had been a while since anyone had shown any interest in him, even if only fleetingly.  It occurred to him that this man might have reason to charm him, but Greg could detect no hint of duplicity when responding to questions about the flat or the unusual circumstances of the lease agreement.  He was provided with a detailed contract to take with him and encouraged to contact Mr. Jordan if he had any more questions or reservations.  The only strange note was the lack of information available about the owner of the house.  Mr. Jordan assured Greg that it was merely precautionary, that the owner was a very private person and subtly hinted that the man was more than a little famous and that absolute discretion was imperative.

Returning to The Yard for a few hours, Greg knew that there was no real reason he could find to pass this opportunity up.  Just to cover all his bases, he dropped the contract off at his attorney’s offices the next morning.  When Victoria rang him later that day, she agreed that it was a fantastic opportunity, too good to pass up.  “I spoke to your Mr. Jordan.  They’re really motivated to get someone moved in as soon as possible.  Your credentials as a DI for New Scotland Yard are more than they’d hoped for.  I’ve been authorized to tell you that the owner has added a provision for a bonus if you can take residency within the next two weeks.”  There was a slight hesitation before she added, “It’s a very handsome figure Greg.  I think you should do it.  And I want an invitation to the house warming party.”  Victoria told him to expect a courier in his office within the hour, going so far as to recommend Greg sign the document and have the courier take it to Mr. Jordan right away.  Following this advice, Greg was not surprised when Mr. Jordan himself arrived just over an hour later, handing Greg a packet containing a copy of the lease, a report with a thorough description of the people who would need access to the house and grounds while renovations continued, the aforementioned bonus check and two sets of keys as well as all current security codes. 

The remainder of the work week flew by.  In the evenings, Greg was busy packing.  He arranged for the furniture he was keeping and his personal possessions to be moved at the end of the week, scheduling himself for a day off work so he could be on hand to oversee the operation at both ends. The weekend was spent unpacking and organizing.  He’d primarily be occupying a suite of rooms on the south side of the house consisting of a spacious bedroom, with a large walk in closet and an ensuite that looked as if it belonged in an upscale hotel. There was also a lounge where he’d placed his comfy sofa and armchairs as well as his sturdy bookshelves which housed not only his extensive collection of books accumulated over many years but also his prized record collection and retro stereo system. He had full use of the kitchen and laundry room as well as the garage and surrounding grounds. By the time the sun was setting that Sunday evening, he was almost completely moved in.  He’d also found some time to explore his new surroundings when he needed a break from unpacking, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs and fill his lungs with air that seemed to contain an extra sweetness. 

Greg settled in to his new place easily, finding the few duties revolving around maintaining fairly tight security not at all taxing.  Within a few weeks, he was indeed ready to host a small but somewhat lavish party.  Most of his team made an appearance, enjoying the chance to share a pint or two with their boss in such a fancy but equally relaxed setting.  Many of them knew that Lestrade’s private life had been troubled for years and were genuinely happy to see him finally able to move on, and in such style.  They all thought Greg was a good boss, strict but fair, and more caring and compassionate than most.  Although none of them would ever come out and say it, they all felt that Greg had deserved way better than his soon to be ex and were glad that he’d finally found the courage to cut his losses and make this much needed change.  Already his outward demeanor was noticeably more relaxed, even buoyant, as if he’d shed a great deal of metaphorical weight. Secretly, they hoped that soon Greg would find someone special to share his life with.

Molly Hooper seemed particularly taken with the changes in Greg’s bearing and it was noticed by several members of the team, one or two of whom had always thought there was the potential between the two for more than a friendly working relationship.  While Greg circulated, making sure his guests were supplied with food and drink, he took note of the subtle glances between some of his team.  He took their interest in his love life in stride.  After all, a happy boss was good for the morale of the team.  At the same time however, Greg knew that it would be a while before he was ready for anything potentially serious in that department and would never indulge in anything casual with Dr. Hooper.  He had known and worked with Molly for far too long to even consider a minor dalliance with the lass. 

Approaching Molly a few minutes later, he was relieved to learn that while she was indeed happy for his change in circumstances, she was still the same remarkably practical and perspicacious woman he’d respected and admired professionally for years.  At least most of the time, Greg reflected several minutes later when Molly’s attention shifted almost imperceptibly.  The change wrought in her person over the following few seconds told Greg exactly who had just arrived.  Being in the fantastic mood he was in, Greg decided to give Molly a little reprieve, stepping directly in to her sight line, drawing her gaze back to him.  Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look this evening Molly?”

Mission accomplished, Greg thought as Molly’s attention was fully focused back on himself as Sherlock approached them.  Although he didn’t think for a single second that this would have any effect on the consulting detective, he hadn’t done it for Sherlock’s benefit.  Nevertheless, Sherlock was not above making a predictably inappropriate comment regarding his proximity to the medical examiner. “Really Girard, don’t you think you should at least wait for the decree absolute before moving in on my pathologist?”

With a sly wink to Molly, Greg pretended not to have heard this absurd inquiry.  “I haven’t given you the tour yet, have I Molly?  What say we top off our drinks and I…show you around the place?”  He’d deliberately paused, his voice soft, attempting to imply more with his simple suggestion (this time wholly for Sherlock’s benefit).

“That would be lovely,” Molly breathed.

Straightening and offering her his hand, Greg made a show of only then seeming to become aware of Sherlock hovering nearby, a dark scowl marring his model-like features. “Sherlock! When did you arrive? I’m surprised you came.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he took in the pair’s clasped hands.  “Clearly.”

Struggling to keep his lips from twitching, Greg saw another newcomer sidle up. “John, thanks for coming mate!”

Judging from his smirk and the barely suppressed mirth in his eyes, John had already twigged what Greg was trying to do. “This place is amazing Greg.”

“It’s something, isn’t it?  Um, I was just about to give Molly the grand tour.”  He seemed to deliberate for a few moments. “Babe, would you mind if John joined us?”

Molly could hardly miss Sherlock’s indignant snort at the diminutive.  “Of course not.”

Greg gave Molly’s hand a squeeze before releasing it.  “Tell you what, John, if you wouldn’t mind helping me get some drinks, we’ll meet back here and get this tour started.”  As if only an afterthought, doing his best to sound like the idea held little appeal he added, “I don’t suppose you’ll be joining us Sherlock?”

“Wrong as usual Geoff.  I shall certainly not leave Molly subject to your overly familiar attentions.”

Shooting the tall man a look that conveyed his surprise at this rather proprietary statement, Greg muttered “Okay, a Shirley Temple for Aunt Sherly and another Cosmopolitan for the beautiful Dr. Hooper coming right up.” With another surreptitious wink to Molly, he slipped away quickly before Sherlock could sniff out the subterfuge, with John following, struggling not to snicker before he was well away from the increasingly irate genius.

Pouring two pints while Greg mixed the cocktails, John asked, “What’s all that about?”

Glancing to where Sherlock was clearly warning Molly against getting too close to the soon to be divorced and consequently overly libidinous DI, Greg grinned, “Just having a bit of fun and giving poor Molls a boost.” He kept up the pretense while taking the small group around his new home, smiling at Molly and taking her hand or pressing his hand in the small of her back to guide her.  By the time they completed the short tour under one of the big shade trees in the back garden, Molly was completely relaxed and even amused by the joke played on Sherlock.

Leaving the trio, Greg resumed his hosting duties, returning inside to see the arrival of Mr. Jordan, who lost no time in attaching himself to the attractive DI.  Greg thoroughly enjoyed the next few hours, plying his guests with good food and drink, adding good music to the mix in the form of some of his favorite records.  As the party began to break up, Greg thanked those departing for helping him to celebrate this fresh start, ensuring that those unable to drive had a friend to see them home.  Cabs were called for a few to ensure they made it home in one piece. 

He’d just begun to start on the cleanup after the last guests had departed when there was a soft knock on the front door. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight awaiting him on the other side. Wearing one of his gorgeous (and terribly enticing in Greg’s opinion) bespoke suits and holding a bottle of very expensive champagne stood Mycroft Holmes.  Lestrade’s brain short circuited for a few moments.  He could only stand by the door staring.

After a slightly awkward moment, Mycroft said, “Good evening Detective Inspector.  I apologize that I was unable to attend your soiree this evening, but I did wish to add my solicitations for your recent good fortune.”

It took Greg another few moments to come out of his haze.  Mycroft…was on his doorstep.  Saying things.  And there _he_ was, unable to even offer the man a simple greeting.  “Huh.” _What? You berk, he’s going to think you’re a complete simpleton, politely excuse himself and that would be that._ Greg would never get another chance like this again. “I mean thank you. That’s very kind of you Mr. Holmes.  Please, come in,” he added, belatedly stepping aside to open the door to allow Mycroft entrance. 

Mycroft hesitated.  “That’s most gracious of you, but I fear I would be disrupting the remainder of your evening. Perhaps another time?  Please accept this small token of my appreciation for everything you’ve done for my brother, and by extension, for me.”

Wordlessly, Greg took the bottle Mycroft held out to him, almost afraid to make another attempt to get him across the threshold, something he wanted more in that moment than anything else he could think of.  “Good night Detective Inspector.” With a minute nod, Mycroft turned and began to walk towards the street.

Lestrade watched him go and with each moment Greg felt deep within him that if he let this chance to spend even a little time alone with Mycroft pass him by he’d regret it for the rest of his days. Each step Mycroft took away from him felt like a tiny dagger stabbing him in the center of his chest.  Breathing became a bit difficult and the urge to go after him, to stop him and convince him, somehow, to stay, even if it was just for a bit, grew exponentially.  With no clue what he was going to say to probably the most skilled tactician and negotiator in the world (not to mention the sexiest), Lestrade set the champagne just inside the door and followed him.  When he was only a few steps behind, he just went with the first thing that popped in to his head.  “Not so fast Sunny Jim.”  _Oh god, that’s me deported to some place horrible_ , he thought, even as he saw Mycroft pause before turning back.

Carried another step on momentum and adrenaline, Greg stopped well within the taller man’s personal space.  Blinking fast, Mycroft gazed at Greg as if he’d just sprouted another head.  The tightness in Lestrade’s throat instantly morphed in to full-fledged constriction and he struggled to draw breath without gasping.  As close as they were now standing, Greg could no longer pretend he wasn’t hopelessly infatuated with Sherlock’s older brother.  The tiny breaths he was barely managing only made his situation worse as he was now enveloped in a small but heady cloud of citrus and spice, fine fabrics and something undefinable.  Vetiver maybe.

Having regained some of his usually unshakeable equilibrium, Mycroft tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows lifting more than a little and fixed Greg with his laser focus.  “I beg your pardon?”

Resisting an impulse to bow his head and beg the scarier of the Holmes brothers not to have him immediately removed to a dark dungeon somewhere, never to be seen again, Greg maintained eye contact with Mycroft and followed his instincts, drawing upon years of experience dealing with people who had a lot more power than did he.  “Perhaps you’re not aware that the terms of my lease with the owner of this place requires me to vet everyone who comes here.”

Although there was no outward change in Mycroft’s bearing or expression, Greg could tell that this was not what he’d expected to hear.  “Is that so?  No Detective Inspector, I was _not_ aware.”

Continuing with a bravado he was decidedly not feeling, Lestrade pursued the risky gambit.  “That’s right Mr.  . . . Holmes was it?  I have just a few questions for you, if you could join me inside.  For your comfort only, I assure you.”  Lestrade was solicitousness itself.  He’d noticed how Mycroft’s lips had twitched slightly when Greg had pretended to “recall” his name.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, not quite sure what the DI was up to.  “You wish to _question_ _me_?”  The way he said the last two words made it abundantly clear that it had been a very long time since Mycroft had been on the receiving end of an interrogation.

“It won’t take long.  I’m sure I can have you on your way again very soon.  Shouldn’t take more than two hours.  Maybe three.”

Greg held his breath.  Mycroft straightened his spine. “What could you possibly have to ask me that could take three hours?”

“I’ll think of something.” Greg breathed, beginning to break.

But Mycroft was no pushover.  Leaning forward just a little bit he inquired, “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I’d really like for you to stay and that was the only thing I could think of to say to try to get you to come inside instead of running away.”

This was definitely something Mycroft had not expected the DI to say.  After studying Greg for any tells that might indicate deception and finding none, Mycroft finally acquiesced.  “Very well.  Naturally, I shouldn’t wish for you to void the terms of your lease.”

Relief flooded Greg’s system. “I appreciate that Mr. Holmes.  I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

Mycroft nodded and softly remarked, “Of that I am well aware.”

 _Oh god, nervous laughter bubbling up_.  Now he was behaving like a teenage girl.  Greg could feel his face getting warm and knew he was actually blushing.  He was a goner.  Mycroft was so close and he’d agreed to come inside and now he was being…complimentary.  He had no recourse but to flash what he hoped was his most disarming grin and bring his little ploy to an end.  “I’m sorry for that bit of woolgathering earlier Mycroft. You just really caught me off guard.  I had no idea you even knew about my…change in circumstance.  And residence.  Honestly, I’m glad you were able to come, even if you did miss the party.  You’re here now and I’d love for you to join me for a nice glass of wine.  And I hope you haven’t eaten.  There are so many leftovers.  You’d actually be helping me out. If you have the time, of course.”

Mycroft considered his next move carefully before responding.  “As it happens I was unable to break for luncheon earlier and I came here directly after dealing with…a situation.”

“Well that’s settled then, yeah?  Do please come in and take your ease, refresh yourself after a long day of saving the world.”

Greg watched as Mycroft scrunched his brows down.  “Really Lestrade, I’m just a minor civil servant.”

“Course you are.”  His grin grew even cheekier.  He stepped back a bit and gestured to the still wide open doorway.  “After you _Mister_ _Holmes_.”

Mycroft continued to scowl at him but Greg saw the glint of levity in his eyes all the same. Mycroft began back in the direction of the house but after a few steps, turned back to Lestrade suddenly, almost causing Greg to bump in to him.  Craning his neck to meet the other man’s eyes, Greg swallowed hard. “Don’t think I missed that running away remark Gregory.”

“Please don’t have me disappeared,” he begged, bringing his hands together in supplication.

Pursing his lips to keep them from widening into an actual grin, Mycroft huffed, “Oh get on with you.”

Greg held his hands out apologetically. “I’ll just go pop that champagne in the refrigerator, shall I?”  He quickly side stepped his guest and slipped inside, listening intently for the sound of the door closing behind Mycroft.  When it came, Greg relaxed at the same time that his heart began to beat a little faster.  He’d done it, convinced Mycroft to stay.  Now what?


	2. The First Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg feeds Mycroft some homemade goodness and the politician is blown away. Both men struggle with their growing but as yet unacknowledged attraction to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to sanguisuga who writes the most delectable smut I've ever read.

_Okay. Okay. This is good.  Mycroft is here, there’s plenty of food and drink to ply him with, hopefully get him to loosen up a bit.  Don’t blow this Greg.  YOU CAN DO THIS._

Returning to the entryway in search of his unexpected guest, Greg was met with…nothing _.  Bugger. Has he done a runner after all?_ Greg tentatively stepped toward the large sitting room on the north side of the house, holding his breath.  This room was similarly empty.  Closing his eyes as disappointment began to wash over him, he had to admit he’d been insane to hope, even for the thirty seconds it had taken him to find a spot for the magnum of champagne in the packed refrigerator, that he had any chance at all with the man who was The British Government, even if it was only for a simple meal.  Still, it would have been nice, he thought as he dejectedly began to gather up a few plates of half eaten food on a nearby end table. 

As Mycroft watched the DI from just beyond the terrace doorway, instantly deducing what had happened, as well as what might be going through his mind, he found himself a bit confused by what he saw.  _Why should Lestrade be so affected?  He wasn’t expecting me, but now seems so…forlorn because he thinks I’ve gone.  Strange.  Must gather more data._

Turning away quickly so as not to create further awkwardness, Mycroft struck a pose, waiting for Lestrade to realize his mistake.  Listening intently, he knew the moment the other man spotted him, hearing a soft inhale not far away.  Turning back casually, he pretended not to notice the deer in headlights expression, swiftly banished.  “I must say Gregory, you’ve done quite well for yourself.  You are to be congratulated on your new surroundings.”  Carefully approaching the older man, who had frozen, he provided him with a convenient cover.  “I hope you don’t mind me looking around a bit without you.”  Mycroft was surprised at the decidedly sultry tone of his own voice.

Still a bit mesmerized, Greg shook his head. “No, not at all.  Mi casa es su casa.” A moment later, a noticeable blush appeared as Lestrade realized what he’d said. 

Mycroft did not even try to hide his amusement as he looked down at his host.  In point of fact, he found the other man’s self-consciousness endearing.  Surrounded as he usually was with staid government officials and hardened, paranoid diplomats, seeing another’s unguarded reactions was…most stimulating.  Consequently, he allowed an actual smile to break as he regarded Lestrade a bit more speculatively.   “Thank you Gregory, that is most considerate of you.”  Although he would have been content to stay there and be further charmed by a flustered Lestrade, Mycroft felt it would be kinder to give the man a few moments to recover.  “And where might I locate the salle de bain in my new casa?”

“Oh. Yes. Right this way.”  The relief with which Greg showed his guest to the tranquil bathroom on the first floor was clear to see.  Mycroft took his time to afford Gregory ample opportunity to regain his footing.  When he emerged into the somewhat informal “family” room adjoining the kitchen, Greg was busily tidying the countertop at a relaxed pace, humming softly to himself.  In the moments he had before the other man became aware of his presence, he allowed his gaze to roam over the very trim physique of Inspector Gregory Lestrade.  Certainly he had always been aware that the DI was quite good looking.  More than once over the last several years, he’d caught himself wondering about the possibilities had circumstances been different. 

And there was that one time that he’d had his driver circle the vicinity of Lestrade’s chosen pub the day he had finally learned of his wife’s infidelities, waiting until the horribly drunk DI had stumbled onto the pavement and wavered, unsure of where to go.  The black sedan had pulled alongside him and Mycroft himself emerged from the back of the vehicle to gently guide the poor man inside.  His driver had helped bring Lestrade inside his townhouse and settle him in the guest bedroom.  He’d had to leave the country rather suddenly the next morning and it was several weeks before he saw Gregory again.  Although neither man ever referred to that night, Mycroft would occasionally feel the other man’s eyes on him, quietly assessing.

Instinctively knowing that Lestrade had sensed him lurking, he continued forward, striving for a casual air.   Gregory turned to watch as Mycroft approached the low wide counter bridging the two rooms.  Greg sallied up opposite him as the tall man gracefully perched on one of the low stools.  Making a show of wiping down the counter in front of him, Greg said, “Good evening, what will Sir be having tonight?”

Mycroft considered for a moment before responding, “How about a vodka tonic on the rocks with a twist.”

Greg smiled in a perfectly understated way.  “Excellent choice Sir.”  Both men enjoyed the ensuing few minutes as Greg retrieved a glass and ice before crossing to where an impromptu bar had been set up.  Having calmed down a bit by focusing on something simple like discarding used plates and tossing empties into the recycling bin, Greg now moved with confidence, enjoying the feel of Mycroft’s eyes following him. For his part, Mycroft was a little impressed with the change in the DI.  While flustered Lestrade was adorable, self-possessed Gregory moved with a kind of lazy prowl, hinting at a barely contained core of strength and vitality.  This man was neither simpering nor supercilious and the government official found himself somewhat enthralled. 

Mycroft forced himself to look away for a moment, scooting back on the stool, determined to relax as much as he was able.  This impromptu interlude with the Detective Inspector must be enjoyed to the fullest as it was not likely to be repeated. The unexpected stab of regret this thought engendered would not keep him from relishing this time with the other man.  As Gregory turned back to carry the cocktail across the room, Mycroft’s eyes were once again drawn to him.  He allowed his gaze to begin at Greg’s feet and travel up the length of him slowly until he reached his eyes.  Said eyes were wide, clearly surprised by Mycroft’s overt appraisal.  Swallowing hard, Greg had to lean forward and stretch out in order to place the full tumbler in front of his guest.

An image of Gregory crawling on top of the counter-top and prowling up to him on hands and knees flashed before his mind’s eye.  Not wishing to reveal the increasingly carnal nature of his musings, he dropped his eyes to the beverage.  Using the next few moments to get his wayward thoughts under control, he brought the glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow.  Smiling, he said, “This is _very_ good Inspector.”  He looked up through his lashes with a query.  “Won’t you join me?” 

Lestrade swallowed again and offered a slightly tremulous answering smile.  “Absolutely, as soon as I’ve prepared a plate for you.  Can’t have you wasting away.”

Wryly, Mycroft quipped, “I believe we are in no danger of that happening.”

“That’s right, because I’m about to offer up a few of my best concoctions.  I believe I outdid myself today.”  As he spoke he sauntered to the stovetop and ladled two generous scoops of vegetable soup made from scratch that morning in to shallow bowl.  He carefully walked around to the far side of the low island and gently placed the bowl in front of Mycroft.  “Let that cool for a moment while I fetch a spoon and a serviette.”  After depositing these items next to the soup, he darted back around the island to gather a small hunk of mozzarella cheese and a grater, tucking the wooden pepper grinder in to his back pocket.  Returning to Mycroft’s side, he asked, “Would Sir like fresh mozzarella with his soup?”

“Please.”  He felt a bit silly for enjoying Lestrade’s playacting, but couldn’t help the indulgence, just this once.

Greg added just a few delicate curls of the cheese before setting it aside.  “Ground pepper?”

“Love some.”

Only when the dish was complete and ready for that first taste did Greg allow his gaze to return to his dinner companion’s face.  “Enjoy.”  He moved back and watched from the corner of his eyes as Mycroft gracefully placed his serviette in his lap and carefully brought the first taste to his lips, blowing delicately at the steaming liquid before sliding it past them. 

Incapable of hiding his excitement, Greg awaited his response. He was not disappointed as he saw Mycroft’s eyes widen in wonder.  “Oh.”  He quickly took another spoonful, savoring this one. Looking over at the creator of such flavorful perfection, Mycroft breathed. _“Oh!”_ Greg held his breath, hoping the lascivious turn his thoughts had just taken upon hearing Mycroft’s spontaneous, almost erotic outburst was not written all over his face.

“Good, right?”

Mycroft stared at him for a moment before answering.  “Gregory, this is _absolutely delicious!”_

Greg strove to tamp down his delight, focusing on a spot near Mycroft’s earlobe.  “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? Gregory…I…” He took another spoonful, allowing his genuine appreciation to show clearly.  “Am I to understand that you made this? Yourself?”

Greg nodded, becoming just a tiny bit self-conscious.  “It’s a dish I’ve experimented with for years, based on an old, _OLD_ family recipe.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly at him for a few seconds, then shook his head a tiny bit before turning his body to face the chef.  “Gregory, I’ve enjoyed meals at some of the best restaurants and eateries on the planet, prepared by world-renowned chefs and I have never had anything comparable to this…this…scoop of heaven in a bowl. Never, have I ever tasted vegetable soup as fresh and flavorful and utterly perfect as this.”

Feeling quite chuffed, Greg was incapable of keeping his grin from overtaking him.  His eyes were glittering like stars as he replied. “Well. In that case I insist that you take the rest home with you.”

“Deal.”  Mycroft was happy to accept.

“Thank you.”

“It is I who should be thanking you! This is truly an unexpected treat.”

“An unexpected treat that’s going to be ice cold before you finish it.  Please, don’t mind me.  Eat.”

For the next few minutes as Mycroft tucked in with barely contained gusto, Greg moved about, silently bringing a small hunk of crusty bread and a tiny garden salad with his secret recipe dressing.  Listening intently to all the little sighs and even a couple moans coming from his guest, Greg carefully placed before Mycroft a generous portion of the slow roasted brisket he’d been reheating under the broiler on a warmed plate along with a mix of herb-encrusted root vegetables, drizzled with a maple infused bacon reduction.  Quickly returning to the kitchen, he fetched himself a bowl of soup and a soda with a twist before finally joining Mycroft on the other side of the island.  The impromptu meal continued in comfortable silence, except for the increasingly delightful noises from the other man.  Focusing on his light repast, Greg found he could not look at Mycroft, as his thoughts were now firmly enmeshed in wondering what else he could do to elicit similar responses.  It was a struggle to maintain control over _his_ body’s responses to those little sounds of pleasure and enjoyment.  After finishing his soup, he made sure to turn fully away before carefully standing to spirit his bowl to the sink, praying that Mycroft wouldn’t suss out the real reason it took him three minutes to wash one bowl and one spoon.  Maybe if he just kept moving, his lustful conjecturing would be harder, erm, _more difficult_ , to discern.  He moved to the stovetop to put the kettle on.

“So tell me Detective Inspector,” Mycroft’s voice was very close to his ear.  “What other hidden talents do you have?”

 

 


	3. The First Misunderstandind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg vacillates and Mycroft doesn't understand. Then Greg makes an offer he CANNOT refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicating this chapter to claro. This one's kinda short.

_“So Detective Inspector, what other hidden talents do you have?”_

Greg closed his eyes briefly as a jolt of electricity shot through him, lodging somewhere near the base of his still half hard cock.  He turned to face the elder Holmes brother, convinced the man would be able to hear the pounding of his heart.  Discovering a teasingly challenging look in Mycroft’s eyes, Greg’s own eyes narrowed slightly.  Decidedly thrilled by these developments, Greg was also beginning to feel a bit like the canary, just before the cat pounced.  _Okay Mr. Holmes, this is not my first rodeo.  I’m not scrrrrd._

Grinning slyly, he answered, “Surely you wouldn’t want me spilling all my secrets at once Mr. Holmes,” deliberately dropping his voice into a lower register.  He leaned forward, relishing the resulting twin spots of color high on Mycroft’s cheeks.  “These things must be allowed to unfold naturally.  Don’t you agree?”  He unleashed his most deceptively innocent gaze upon the other man, even allowing his eyelashes to flutter a tiny bit.  _Take that you superior bastard._

Nothing could have prepared him for the fleeting glimpse of pure, unmitigated desire that he saw dance across the taller man’s face.   A moment later he had to ask himself if it had been wishful thinking, as there was no trace left.  Instead, Mycroft’s direct gaze dropped, his eyebrows coming together as he cleared his throat. Greg stood frozen, wondering what would happen if he just leaned forward a tiny bit more. Really put himself out there, as it were. He saw himself gently tilting Mycroft’s chin up so their eyes could meet. He would smile, just a little bit, so that Mycroft would know he was only teasing him a little. And Mycroft would see that he didn’t have to hide how he felt.  Because Greg felt the same way. Right?

Greg closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t do it.  Not yet.  It was too much, too soon.  He wasn’t even officially a free man yet.  He couldn’t act on his feelings for Mycroft now before he’d gotten his sea legs back. Whatever that means.  He had no real indication that Mycroft was interested in him in any way (other than as occasional Sherlock wrangler), not really.  His crush had been kept so far under wraps for soooo long (at least he hoped so – you never knew with either Holmes brother around), barely daring to even acknowledge it to himself. Doing anything now would be foolhardy.  Impetuous.  Unconscionably irresponsible and impossibly fast.  Take a breath. Take a beat.

When Mycroft brought himself to look up at Gregory again, his breath was taken from him.  Greg stood immobile, his eyes closed, something approaching pain etched across his face.  _Good heavens, how could I have misjudged the situation so profoundly?_ The poor man had generously fed his unannounced, uninvited guest the most unexpectedly delectable meal imaginable as a simple gesture of polite congeniality.  _And here I am reading all sorts of ridiculous, impossible, wonderful things in to it, causing Lestrade to suffer what are clearly very unwanted attentions._ This simply wouldn’t do.  Taking a fortifying breath, Mycroft shifted into diplomat mode, prepared to offer his obviously reluctant host his heartfelt appreciation for a most enjoyable evening and make a quick exit.  “I believe you have the right of it.  Once again, my most sincere compliments to a true artist.  Your culinary talents are rather astounding Detective Inspector.  I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal so much.”

Greg was hard pressed not to grab the other man and snog him senseless.  Distracted by the potency of these urges, he stammered a clumsy response.  Mistaking Lestrade’s obvious confusion for discomfiture, Mycroft stepped back a bit and began his preamble for leaving.  “I’ve been horribly selfish, imposed on you for far too long.  You must be quite done in, playing host all day and now all of the evening too.  It’s time I took myself off.”  He began to turn to go when he was stopped by a hand gripping his arm just above his left wrist.

“You can’t leave now.  You’ll miss the best part.  And anyway, the soup has to cool off a bit more before I can pour it in to a container.”

Again Mycroft had to question his assessment. When offered an easy way out of what seemed to be an awkward situation, Greg refused it.  Clearly additional data was needed.  Blinking a few times, Mycroft refused to be diverted by the rather warm and pleasant sensations that travelled languidly down to the fingertips of his left hand and then back up to where Gregory’s strong but surprisingly gentle and quite soft fingers circled his arm.  Turning back to him, Mycroft was disarmed by an earnest and open gaze.  Gregory wasn’t _just_ being polite and hospitable.  Everything that Mycroft had ever learned – or taught himself – about seeing through any and all kinds of deception, even the nicer types, declared that Lestrade’s desire for him to stay was genuine.  “Well…if you’re certain?”

“Course I am,” Greg spoke softly.  “What kind of a host would I be if I let you go without sampling something a bit sweet?”  There was nothing, no force in existence, not even the formidable will of Mycroft Holmes that could keep his gaze from being inexorably drawn to Lestrade’s lips as he uttered those particular words.  The slightly shorter man was within a hairs breadth of being crushed to his chest and having those undoubtedly very sweet lips plundered mercilessly.  Mycroft was aware of a rushing noise, as blood suffused his throat and ears.  He was only brought back to himself when he felt those strong fingers, still encircling his arm, squeeze gently, the thumb sliding across his pulse.  “Please say you’ll stay.” 

The request was spoken so plainly, with no dissembling or artifice, something that almost never happened in Mycroft’s world.  Lestrade waited patiently for his answer, making no attempt to hide the hopefulness in his eyes.  Mycroft found himself smiling back at him unreservedly.  He spoke before he could think twice. “How could I possibly refuse?”  He was gratified to see true delight infuse the other man’s countenance and light up his eyes, his blinding smile creating adorable little dimples. _What the devil has happened to me?  Focus Mycroft, you’re obviously missing something._ For example, “Gregory, what did you mean by I’d miss the best part?”  Wait? Was Gregory _blushing?_

His eyes slanted in the direction of the oversized refrigerator. “Oh, nothing, just…well, I do have one or two more surprises in store if you’re up for it.”

_Evil man, if I’m up for it indeed.  Was he deliberately saying things that could easily be…misconstrued?_

“Nothing too challenging, mind.”  Mycroft’s eyes grew even wider.  He drew breath to speak but then his mouth snapped shut as he attempted to x-ray Greg’s thoughts.  “Tell you what.  Give me a few minutes to gather a few things together.  If you can spare a bit more of your valuable time, of course.  I mean,” he added, his eyes twinkling playfully, “I certainly don’t want to jeopardize the security of the nation by monopolizing your attention.”

Greg saw the answering glint in Mycroft’s eyes as he once again claimed to wield only a minor amount of power in The British Government, adding “I believe England will stand should I continue my sojourn here with you for a little while longer.”

“Brilliant!”  Greg released his arm and gestured to the front of the house.  “If Sir would just come this way.”  He ushered Mycroft in to the lounge of his suite of rooms, stepping through to quickly flick on the solitary lamp stationed by his bookshelves.  He tilted the light up to bounce it off the ceiling, softening it. “Please, make yourself comfortable.  Take your shoes off if you wish, put your feet up.  The loo is straight back through the bedroom if you need it.”  As Mycroft moved slowly into the room, Greg knew he was probably cataloging and indexing his books, assessing the age of his furniture, and calculating the cubic footage of the room and what time it was based on the position of some constellation in the sky, visible through the large bay window in the front wall of the house. 

Unconcerned, Greg left him to it as he nipped in to the corner of the room behind the door to find one of his favorite records to unwind to, one that just happened to be – although he did not yet know it – also a particular favorite of his guest’s.  Going for maximum impact, Greg switched on the record player and stereo, but waited a full minute, to let them warm up a bit, before gently lowering the needle onto the LP.  As the sultry strains of Do I Move You by Nina Simone filled the space, Greg let his eyes flutter shut, allowing the music to wash over and through him.  It had an almost instant and relaxing effect on him, like a very strong but unutterably smooth tonic for his soul.  Ever since he’d first discovered this album when he was nineteen, it always had the power to calm him when he was feeling restless, pick him up when blue, relax him when anxious (or horny) and just keep him company when there was no one else. Years later, after he’d been promoted to DI and transferred to The Murder Squad, this music could banish the bad thoughts after an especially bad case involving kids or defenseless animals, even if it was only for a short time. It was just what he’d needed at that moment, reminding him who he was and what he’d accomplished, what he’d survived in his time.

Feeling clever and courageous, he braved a glance back to gage Mycroft’s reaction.  He was stood gazing out of the window, himself deep in thought.  Greg allowed himself the luxury of a long look at the poised, posh, complex man.  Standing there, his profile lit by the moon, his arms wrapped loosely around himself, he appeared almost to be in a sort of a trance. He had never seen the powerful man so unguarded. Greg carefully maneuvered to the open doorway, leaving it propped wide open. 

 

                                                    


	4. The First Inklings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Elfbert. Loving A Hole in the World right now.

When Greg returned to the lounge, laden with a full tray, he found Mycroft standing in front of one of his bookshelves, holding a copy of The Little Prince.  He paused and just watched as Mycroft continued to read for a bit longer before slowly looking up to gaze at Greg a bit dazedly.  Concerned, Greg said, “Everything okay?”

Mycroft just stared at him.  He almost looked…stoned.  “Hmmm? Oh. Yes…of course.  Is…are _you_ okay?  I mean, is there anything I can help you with?”

There was something, he could tell.  “No, no, I’m good.”  He glanced at the book in Mycroft’s hands again.  Oh right. “That’s a good one,” he said, nodding at the book.

“Mmm? Oh, yes. It is indeed, as you say, a good one.”  He looked down at the book in his hands again.   ”And a first edition too.  It’s lovely.”

“Yeah.  Did you maybe want to return it to its rightful owner?”

That got Mycroft’s full attention immediately.  “…..You know who this belongs to?”

“Of course I do.  Where do you think it came from?”  At Mycroft’s lack of response, Greg decided to deposit the heavy tray on his desk before explaining.  He turned back to where Mycroft was watching him carefully, a slight frown disturbing his features.  He wanted to smooth his fingers over Mycroft’s brow, easing away those lines.  He began cautiously, not wanting to completely destroy the mood he was hoping to create.  “I’m not sure how much you already know about when I first met Sherlock.”  The frown lines deepened.  _Bollocks._ He hesitated, carefully considering what he should – and should not – include.  “I don’t suppose we could postpone this conversation for another time?”

Already Mycroft was changing, becoming The Iceman.  His voice was soft but edged with steel when he answered, “That would not be advisable.”

Greg swallowed nervously, his eyes widening a bit.  Trying not to show how intimidated he felt, he nodded. “Okay, but I have a couple conditions.”

The professional politician prompted. “Go on.”

“First, please relax.  We’ve been having such a lovely time and I don’t want anything to spoil it.  I swear to you, there’s nothing I could tell you that will come as much of a surprise.”

The other man arched an eyebrow but remained laser focused.  “And?”

“Just…come sit down.  And for God’s sake, stop looking at me like you’re about to scragg me with a pen or something and hide my carcass in the bin out back.  You _know_ I’m not your enemy Mycroft.”

This at least seemed to banish the slightly menacing posture and expression from Mycroft’s bearing.  He blinked rapidly before responding in a voice that shook slightly.  “Apologies, Gregory.  Of course I know that.  It’s just…where my brother is concerned, I’m inclined to brace for the worst out of habit I’m afraid.”

Greg’s easy grin returned.  He could see the other man visibly softening. “That’s completely understandable.”

 “Your terms are acceptable.”  Mycroft made his way across the room and gracefully settled himself on one end of the sofa in front of the big bay window.  Releasing a deep breath in relief, Greg retrieved a small collapsible table he kept in the corner by the bookcases and set it up not far from where Mycroft sat.  A few moments later he placed the tray down gently and carefully lowered himself onto the sofa just a few inches from where his guest sat.  “Would you like a splash of port?  I’ve brought a bit of my favorite blue cheese.  L’Or des Domes Bleu Auvergne.  Are you familiar with it?  It’s made in the-

“Southeast of France.  Yes, I know it quite well.  In fact, I’ve been meaning to place an order for a small consignment for a while.  This is a very pleasant surprise Gregory.  I’d love some, thank you.”

Greg strove to keep his hand from visibly trembling as he lifted the tiny glass, unable to ignore the tingling of his fingers where Mycroft’s had fleetingly ghosted over them during the handoff.  He raised the second glass carefully and positioned the small plate with several bite sized chunks of the cheese where they could easily share it.  “Please help yourself,” he invited, taking a small chunk and popping it in his mouth, savoring it.  “Mmmmm.  Oh.  Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.  No matter how good I think it’s going to be, it’s always better.”  He’d seen Mycroft’s hand pause slightly as he reached for a portion of the delicacy.  Sitting back, Greg stretched his legs a bit, flexing the ankles a few times as he sipped the libation.  “Feels good to get off my feet for a bit.”  He took a second sip of the port before replacing the glass on the small table. 

“Okay.  If it’s alright with you, I’d like to skip some of the uglier details.  Suffice it to say that Sherlock was in pretty rough shape when I found him.”  After a pause, Mycroft nodded but said nothing.  “I was doing a final sweep of a smack house.  Sherlock was out of it but was together enough to avoid detection while the place was cleaned out.  It looked like he was coming down.  He didn’t try to run when he saw me.  Probably knew he wouldn’t have made it far anyway.  As I put the restraint around his wrists he muttered something.  The only word I could make out was prince.  He only started to struggle when I began walking him away from where he’d been hiding.”  Greg risked looking directly at Mycroft.  “It was the book.  He’d stashed it nearby.  Promised he’d go quietly as long as I brought the book along.”  Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.  Greg felt a tad defensive.  “Well I was curious.  I’d rounded up a lot of junkies by that time.  And some since.  It was the only time any of them indicated a need for anything beyond their drug of choice.  I had to know what book would be so important to a cokehead.” 

Mycroft bristled a bit at that.  Greg slanted an apologetic look his way.  “Sorry.

Mycroft’s voice was bitter as he responded. “As you pointed out earlier Inspector, you’ve said nothing to surprise me.”

“No, but I should be more sensitive.  It is a long time ago of course but it can’t be easy to hear your brother referred to as a junkie or a cokehead.”

“Indeed not.  It is the truth however.  You should not worry too much for my sensibilities.  Please continue.”

“Alright.  So, Sherlock told me where it was concealed behind an old mirror.  He was as good as his word, didn’t try anything while I found the book.  After I got him in the back of the car, he asked me to hold on to it while he was processed, instead of placing it into evidence.   Just to be on the safe side I checked it to make sure there were no…surprises inside before agreeing.”

“Very wise, I’m sure.”  Mycroft’s tone couldn’t quite be described as snarky but it was a close thing.

“Anyway, I started out for the Yard but he began prattling off details about the Crawford double homicide, claiming that the identity of the perpetrator should be obvious to anyone with eyes.  I knew the team investigating hadn’t made much headway.  I couldn’t help myself, I needed to know what he meant.  He was still high but he broke the whole thing down in a matter of minutes.  Before I got to the Yard I knew he was no ordinary addict.”

In somewhat hushed tones, Mycroft stated more than asked, “So instead of throwing him into a holding cell, you…listened to him.”

“The connections he’d made just from seeing a few grainy photos on the news were beyond brilliant.  I have to admit, I was intrigued.”

“So what did you do with him?”  Greg looked away, not sure what Mycroft would make of it.  The question hung in the air between them like a tangible thing.

“Gregory?”

_Oh God._ “Uh, well, I uh…”

He could feel the tension growing.  He knew the muscles of the man just a few inches away were now coiled ominously.  “Please answer the question Inspector.”

Greg flinched at the threat implicit within the silky sound of the now very dangerous man sitting beside him.  “I will, just, please don’t get the wrong idea.”  Bracing himself, he confessed, “I took him to a motel.”

The air seemed to evaporate.  Lestrade struggled for breath.  There’d be no remains when Mycroft was done with him.  The taut silence stretched out.  Finally he heard the other man draw breath.  “For what purpose?”

Just keep it short and sweet Lestrade, no embellishing.  He turned to look Mycroft squarely in the eyes.  “I wanted to make sure that his observations were spot on before I approached the DI assigned to the Crawford case.  But in order to do that I had to give him time to sober up, get cleaned up, get some rest and maybe even eat a little something before I took him back to the Yard.  So that’s what we did.  Once we got in the room, I shoved him in the loo, with no windows mind, no way he could escape and told him to get in the shower and stay there.  I called down to the front desk and strong armed the night manager into sending someone up to collect his clothes, which were in an atrocious state, and get them to an all-night cleaners.  Told him to use my name to get it back within the hour.  Had him stop and pick up some Chinese take away on the way back.”

“You…were alone in a motel room with my brother who was under the influence-

“And naked, yes.”  Greg waited.  He knew what was coming.

Mycroft, who knew his brother quite well, didn’t look away as he said, “He propositioned you, didn’t he?”

Greg nodded.  “It’s common amongst users.  They’re good at manipulation.”

“That they are.”  His eyes dropped to his hands folded in his lap.  “I take it you…declined his offer.”

“I did.  Told him I’d never cheated on my wife and had no wish to, ta very much.  It’s true by the way.  I took my vows seriously, even after Sharon had strayed.”

“Most commendable Gregory.  Thank you.”

“No thanks needed.”  Mycroft continued to stare at his hands.  Greg placed his left hand over them.  “Mycroft, please look at me.” He waited until Mycroft lifted his eyes.  “I hope you can believe that I’d never take advantage of another human being like that, straight or high.  I never have and never will use my authority as a copper to use another person so selfishly.”

“I can and do believe you.  Of course I do.”

It was Greg’s turn to arch an eyebrow.  “But it did cross your mind, didn’t it.”  Greg felt the hands beneath his moving slightly as Mycroft fidgeted instead of answering.  Greg’s lips quirked a bit before he continued.  “Admit it.  A minute ago I was wondering what being eviscerated would feel like.”

Mycroft pouted a little, so like his sibling, Greg had to smash his lips together to keep from laughing.  “You must understand, my brother is…can be very charming when he wishes.”

He said it before he could stop himself.  “Must be a family trait.”  The fidgeting ceased and Greg froze. 

That eyebrow lifted as Mycroft fixed him with an amused gleam.  “Hmmmm.  Dinner and flattery.  This is a special evening indeed.  I wonder what’s next.”

Relaxing again, Greg squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.  “Sorry Mycroft, that just sorta came out.”

“No apology necessary.  Tell me, did you successfully bring Sherlock back to New Scotland Yard after a suitable interval?”

“Mmm? Oh, yeah.  He looked fairly presentable once he and his clothes were cleaned up.  We stopped for industrial strength coffee beforehand.  He must have dumped a quarter cup of sugar in his but I guess it took the edge off.  It took a while to get authorization to let him see the crime scene photos.  Old Carson, he was the DI in charge, thought I was taking the piss but eventually he agreed.  Sherlock spent three minutes staring at their evidence board and then just explained everything clearly, no showing off, no complaining that it was barely a three.  He didn’t even make anyone else feel like an idiot.”

“That is the only thing you’ve said this evening that is very hard to believe.”

“I know, right?  I think he was rather pleased though.”

“Of that I have no doubt.  Just as I know that giving him the chance to put his unique talents to good use in such a way may well have forever changed the course of his life, very much for the better.  We both have a great deal to thank you for Gregory, something I won’t forget.”

“I was only doing my job really.”

“No Gregory, you did a great deal more than that.  You had no obligation to a man you’d just met for the first time, high as a kite.  You could easily have taken the information provided you once he was incarcerated and passed it on to DI Carson without revealing the source.  Your natural inclination was to introduce him to the appropriate people and actually involve him, but in a way that he would be more easily accepted and not viewed as an addict or a freak.  For all that and so much more, I thank you from the bottom of my heart Gregory Lestrade.”

The DI needed a moment before he could respond.  “You are most welcome Mycroft Holmes.”  Greg hesitated before revealing the next bit.  But Mycroft deserved to know.  “He said you’d be happy the book was safe.”

The reaction this time was quite different.  What could only be amazement and a tiny bit of anguish was clear when Mycroft asked, “He did?”

Greg nodded.  He took another small piece of the sotelty and finished the last few drops of the liquor to give the other man a chance to collect himself.  After a few moments he murmured, “Of course I had no idea who he was talking about at the time.  You and I wouldn’t cross paths for another three months and by that time so much had happened, I’d forgotten all about the book.  The few times I tried to return it that first year, Sherlock distracted me.  I’ve taken it over to Baker Street twice.  Each time it wound up back in my collection.  Somehow.”  There was a liberal dose of sarcasm in that last comment.  He concluded his discourse by shrugging.  “I can take a hint.”

He was immediately rewarded when an actual chuckle escaped his companion’s lips.  “Oh, _very_ good Gregory.” 

Inwardly congratulating himself for both returning a smile to the other man’s face, which was now actually glowing a bit, and also avoiding what surely would have been a painful death, Greg went for broke.  “Last course coming up in a jif.  I just need to pop back down the hall for a few minutes.”  He stood unhurriedly, lifting the tray carefully.

“Gregory, no, please. You’ve done too much for me already.”

“So you keep saying.   Surely you can spare me just a few more minutes.  Besides, you still haven’t had the best bit yet.”  Lestrade saw the resulting curiosity flicker briefly in the other man’s eyes before it morphed into something approaching a challenge.

“So _you_ keep saying.  Very well Gregory, I will bow to your will just this once.  But you should know, I don’t deal well with disappointment.  I hope you are not, as they say, writing a check your ass can’t cash.”  As an afterthought, enjoying the mischievous tenor their banter had taken, he quipped, “And don’t call me Sherly.”

_No no no.  Don’t make me laugh horrible man.  I need to maintain what little mystery I have left.  In fact…_

”Care to make a small wager?”  Greg had no idea what he was doing to poor Mycroft, towering over him, failing to be nonplussed by his use of a provocative colloquialism, not to mention the word ass.  His understated confidence was most alluring.  And now adding a dash of bravado to his voice, just the hint of a dare.  So be it.

“What are your terms?

Greg didn’t hesitate.  “After one bite, you will concede my victory to me whereupon I will disclose my forfeit.”

“A bold claim.  And if I do not concede defeat?”

“Name your prize.”

“An even bolder response.  I accept the wager.  I promise to be a very tough critic.”

An evil grin graced Lestrade’s features as he leaned down and delivered to his adversary the kill shot. “I already know you’re not easy Mycroft.”  Smirking a little as said adversary’s mouth fell open, he murmured, “Why don’t you make yourself useful while I’m gone and find us something else nice to listen to?”  Just for kicks he added, “On second thought, you just sit there being pretty and I’ll be _right_. _Back_.” before swaggering across the lounge and out the door.

Whereupon he promptly had a heart attack and died in the hallway. _Which is perfect because this way Mycroft can’t have me killed, stuffed and mounted on his wall._ The ghost of Greg Lestrade proceeded to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, back in the lounge…

Mycroft sat staring at the space where Lestrade had been, listening to the sounds of his heart pounding and somewhat ragged breathing.  He had no choice but to admit to himself that he felt more than a bit at sea, a sensation alien to Mycroft.  Even as a youth he’d never experienced this level of uncertainty.  Was it possible?  Had Lestrade been… _flirting?_   _With him?_   His mind balked at the thought.  Gregory Lestrade was…no, attractive was far too insipid a word to encapsulate his myriad charms.  Devastatingly handsome was much closer to the mark but even that fell short in Mycroft’s opinion.  In addition to a slightly rugged and extremely pleasing countenance, Greg’s physique was strong and solid but still quite trim. Mycroft had cast many an appreciative glance at his enticing form over the course of their association, without revealing his own less than professional interest.  He’d been drawn in by the man’s warm and caring eyes that clearly reflected his innate cleverness and compassion more times than he could count.  And Mycroft himself was often at a loss to adequately describe the effect Greg’s husky voice had on him at times, whether tinged with annoyance at Sherlock, frustration over a difficult case or amusement at some diversion.  Now that his marriage was officially in the past, Gregory was free to pursue anyone he took a fancy to. Mycroft was only too aware that the last years of Greg’s marriage were not happy ones and he would certainly be casting about for a likely partner.  Or partners.  It was impossible to imagine that Lestrade could actually be interested in him _that way_. 

_But…I am imagining it._

_Well stop it.  This is madness.  It is too risky to indulge this fantasy.  This is just Gregory’s easy-going, playful nature.  Reading anything more into his admittedly suggestive tone and body language was unrealistic if not down-right delusional._

_But…he said I was pretty._

_….He did, didn’t he?_ A slow smile broke through at the thought _. No matter what happens, or more likely, doesn’t happen, at least I have that._

_He’ll be back any moment._ Still unsure how to proceed, Mycroft stood and stepped over to Lestrade’s rather impressive record collection, flipping through them carefully in an attempt to at least appear relaxed.

The object of Mycroft’s musings was striving to calm himself before returning to the lounge.  After placing the used dishware into the sink, he’d poured himself a generous amount of the best Scotch he could afford, consuming it quickly.  Tempted to indulge in another finger of the dark liquid, he resisted, distracting himself by finding a container large enough to hold the soup that was now sufficiently cooled.  That done, he carefully scooped two moderate portions of his final gastronomical offering of the evening into sturdy earthenware bowls, pleased with the juxtaposition of the delicate pastry in the thick crockery.  He placed them on the tray and then took two tumblers and added them, then plucked the bottle of brandy from the makeshift bar.  The pounding of his heart had slowed considerably and his breathing was more controlled. He had almost managed to convince himself that he hadn’t just made a massive blunder, flirting so outrageously with Mycroft bloody Holmes.

_You know he admires you._

_Admires, yes.  He knows I’m good at what I do.  He appreciates my willingness to let Sherlock in on difficult cases.  That doesn’t mean he likes me, not like that._

_Doesn’t mean he doesn’t._

_Fine. Just, try to play it cool.  Don’t do anything colossally stupid Greg. Or you’ll never get a chance to discover if he is more than just a little intrigued.  And NO SMOKING!_

_I wasn’t!_

_Yes you were._

_Shuttup._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The First Confirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the beginning? Greg certainly hopes so although there is one little snag. Mycroft tells Greg the truth.

God, he wanted to smoke so badly.  Just to calm his nerves a bit.  Anticipating Gregory’s return was not helping.  But smelling like an ashtray just now was definitely not on.  After selecting a record that usually had the power to soothe (the self-titled Rickie Lee Jones), he wandered back to the shelves housing Lestrade’s even more impressive collection of books.  There was a wide variety of non-fiction, ranging from history to philosophy (Cicero!), interrogation tactics, the speeches of Disraeli and Churchill, a book on John Dee and another focusing on the relationship between the first Queen Elizabeth’s astrologer and Sir Francis Bacon. 

Moving to the second shelf Mycroft surveyed the assortment of fictional selections.  There were many works of classical literature.  Several by The Bard as well as Chaucer, Hemingway, the Bronte Sisters, Rabelais, Dorothy Parker and Kurt Vonnegut. More contemporary pieces included mysteries and whodunits by Christie, Marric and Graham, noir classics from Hammett and Chandler, even a few well known romance novels.  Further exploration revealed Oscar Wilde and George Sand and James Joyce. He spied a small section dedicated to historical fiction that boasted several well-known tomes by Phillippa Gregory and a few penned by Dianna Gabaldon.  When he came upon the complete works of Dorothy Dunnett he knew that more than a few of his earlier assessments of Lestrade would need to be revised. 

A bit distracted by this revelation, Mycroft decided it was high time for a moment of real reflection.  He quickly stepped through Greg’s bedroom to find the ensuite.  His eyes hurt a little as the bright lights flickered on.  Moving to stand in front of the mirror he cast a critical eye. 

_I look tired.  And old._

_Greg said you were pretty._

_The man is clearly addled. And likely drunk._

_So? You want him. You have for a long time.  So get in there and do something about it already._

Mycroft closed his eyes, ignoring that annoying inner voice which, oddly, sounded more like the object of his affections with every passing day.  Sighing, he turned away and put the space to a more practical purpose.  A few minutes later, as he approached the door to the lounge he could see that Gregory had returned and was standing by the record player, holding the Rickie Lee Jones album cover.  As Mycroft stepped in to the room Greg looked up, an almost reverent expression gracing his features. Mycroft paused near the threshold, wondering if something was amiss.  The other man stood frozen, gazing at him, his eyes open but haunted.  Mycroft could see that he was struggling to control his emotions, not entirely successfully.   His instinct was to go to him, offer his support, but he hesitated.  “Gregory?”  Mycroft’s apprehension grew exponentially when the DI opened his mouth to speak but only a sob escaped, ruthlessly extinguished a moment later as Greg clamped his free hand over his mouth.  He turned away, trying to hide his emotions instead.

Mycroft was by his side in an instant, placing a hand on Greg’s shoulder.  “My dear, what is it?  What has happened?”

Greg could only shake his head, still unable to speak.  His shoulders shook as he continued to sob silently.  Without thinking, Mycroft turned him and pulled him into his arms, placing one hand on the back of Gregory’s head.  He leaned down to murmur softly in his ear, saying it would be okay, pleading to be allowed to help if he was able.  Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, the album cover falling to the floor as his arms wound around Mycroft’s waist.  Mycroft held him tighter to ride out the onslaught of volatile emotions the older man was helpless against.  Soon the sobbing subsided and Mycroft moved his hands to stroke Greg’s back, giving him time to come back to himself, swaying slightly. Although he was unsure of what had brought all this on, he could not pretend he was not reveling in the feel of the solid, warm body pressed up to his.  Gregory was much calmer now but had made no move to put space between them. 

Mycroft didn’t know when the swaying stopped.  He seemed to be floating a bit, having somehow stepped into an alternate reality. He was only aware of the man in his arms and his profound wish to keep him there.  One moment his only thought was to provide whatever comfort the other man needed.  The next moment it was as if a switch had been flipped.  As if in a dream, he felt Gregory’s lips pressing into the soft skin along the slender column of his throat.  He heard the swift intake of his own breath.  His stomach seemed to be trying out for the high jump and his heart began jack hammering against his ribcage.  When Greg flicked his tongue just under his jawline and grazed his teeth on that sensitive spot just below his ear, something buried deep within him broke free.  With something approaching a possessive growl, Mycroft tilted his chin, seeking those lips.  He took them, ruthlessly at first, winding both arms securely around Greg’s waist. As Greg hands slid up to grasp Mycroft’s shoulders, Mycroft pulled Greg closer, bending him back as his tongue pushed past lips and teeth to plunder and explore everywhere it could reach.  A muffled moan escaped Greg and he slid his arms around Mycroft’s neck. This spurred Mycroft to deepen the kiss, pushing Greg back against the arm of the sofa as he felt fingers threading into his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Several moments later they were clinging to each other, panting, foreheads pressed together, neither wishing to break contact, eyes wide open, dazed and astounded.

Mycroft’s head dropped down to rest on Greg’s shoulder as his breathing slowed.  Greg fingers continued to stroke and caress his hair, more gently now as the torrent of passion cooled gradually.  Instinctively, Greg gave Mycroft silent reassurance that all was well, maneuvering himself up, still braced against the arm of the sofa, bringing the politician to rest securely between his strong muscular thighs and wrapping his arms around his torso.  When he was finally able to speak, the first thing he said was “That…was amazing.”

He felt Mycroft tense a little and then _his_ shoulders began to shake.  Alarmed, Greg asked, “What is it, what’s wrong?”  Mycroft shook his head, refusing to answer.  Greg leaned back a bit and placed his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, gently pushing him back. “Mycroft, what?”

Mycroft could not keep his laughter from spilling out.  “You sound like John Watson at a crime scene.”

Greg gaped at Mycroft’s glee as his meaning became clear. Pressing his lips together, he fought against the laughter he felt bubbling up.  “Piss off,” he murmured, even as he slid his hands down to Mycroft’s midriff.  “Wanker.”

Mycroft placed his hands over Greg’s.  His mirth had receded.  “What upset you so my dear?”  A shadow crossed Greg’s face.  He dropped his gaze.  “The music…it triggered this. Can you not confide in me?”

Closing his eyes, Greg nodded.  His voice was shaky when he spoke. “The record.  It was my Mum’s favorite.  She would play it all the time, almost every day.  I got my love of music and books from her. She passed almost ten years ago now.  Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  She wasn’t diagnosed early enough to make a difference.”

“Gregory, I am so sorry.” 

“Yeah, me too.  She left it all to me, the books and records.”  Greg was clearly still struggling to control his unsteady emotions.  His voice barely above a whisper he confessed, “This record though was the only one I’ve never been able to bring myself to listen to in all that time.”

Mycroft enveloped him in his arms again, cursing his horrid luck.  “Hearing it brought everything back.  Of course it did. Greg, I don’t know what to say.”

Greg took the comfort Mycroft gave freely.  When he could speak with a bit more composure he said softly, “It’s okay Mycroft, really.  Please don’t beat yourself up over this.  I’m fine, truly.  It just caught me unawares is all.”  When the other man said nothing, Greg leaned back a bit, fixing him with a soft but determined glare.  “I mean it Mycroft.  You couldn’t have known.  I should probably be apologizing to you for turning in to such a big girl’s blouse over a few silly songs.”

“Nonsense.  This music reminds you very strongly of your mother.  She must have been a lovely woman and a wonderful mum.  You must miss her terribly.”

“I do.  She was the best.”  Now that he was on a more even keel, Greg smiled, reminiscing.  “Actually, I should thank you.  I should have done this long ago. I knew it would hurt to hear these songs again and for a long time I was just too raw to even consider trying, you know?  Of course, some memories are a bit painful, but mostly I just remember how much she loved me and how much fun we had together.”

Mycroft could hear the muted happiness Greg’s bittersweet memories were evincing.  He offered a tentative smile.  “I’m glad you’re feeling better my dear.”

A slight blush crept along Greg’s cheeks.  He ducked his head shyly, his fingers playing with one of the buttons on Mycroft’s tailored shirt.  Without looking up, he murmured, “That was one hell of a kiss Mycroft.” 

His smile disappeared and was replaced with a mild moue of trepidation.  “Ah.  About that…Gregory, I hope you know that-

“I’m going to stop you right there.”  Greg’s head had lifted as Mycroft began speaking, his eyes quickly growing wide.  “If any of what you were about to say,” he said quietly but with such a subtle warning even Mycroft wasn’t quite sure it was there, “can in any way be even remotely construed as apologetic… _don’t_.”  Their eyes were now locked on each other and the air seemed to have filled with something like an electrical charge, like the calm before a storm.  His giant brain working on overdrive now, Mycroft understood instantly what Greg meant. 

With the tiniest shake of his head, he cautiously continued, “Gregory, I would never…no, I assure you I can imagine no scenario in which that would ever happen.”  He paused, carefully studying the older man’s reaction to his reassurances.  Himself a skilled interrogator, one who knew how to detect deception, Greg held Mycroft’s eyes long enough to know Mycroft was not dissembling.  Although very little of his outward demeanor changed, the tension eased as Greg nodded, signaling for Mycroft to say his piece.  Simultaneously relieved and stirred by the commanding presence the DI conveyed almost through his voice alone, Mycroft stared at him, realizing again that his assessments of the man had all been sadly incomplete and inadequate.  Quickly revising, just to be on the safe side mind, he took a breath to steady his still flustered emotions.  “I only wished to express that in offering comfort, I did not intend to kiss you like that.”  At the light that crept in to Greg’s eyes, Mycroft realized he’d been less than clear.  Greg thought the resulting pout was adorable and sexy as hell.

Greg slid one hand up to ghost along Mycroft’s cheek, fingertips teasing his ear, fingers threading into his hair.  Mycroft shivered as a frisson of pleasure coursed through his entire body.  “It’s okay Myc, I know what you meant.  You may have noticed, I’m certainly not complaining.  As first kisses go, that one was aces.  Besides, I started it.  The truth is, you’ve been driving me to distraction all evening.”

Now this was unexpected.  “I have?”  The idea seemed thoroughly alien to Mycroft.

Nodding and staring at Mycroft’s lips, he elaborated, “I’ve been wanting to snog you senseless since you walked through the door.  Actually, before that even.” 

He was still not getting it.  “Why?”

Now it was Greg’s turn to not understand.  “What do you mean?”  When Mycroft simply stared, his eyebrows drifting closer, Greg quizzed him.  “Are you asking me why I wanted to snog you all night?  I mean, not snog you _all night…_ although, now that I’ve said it, I would enjoy that quite a bit.” He assessed Mycroft’s reaction to the notion.  At his guest’s growing exasperation, he focused on the question at hand.  “Hang on…is this…I mean, do you seriously not know…?”

Mycroft’s regard was intense, perhaps because he was unaccustomed to being so completely in the weeds.  He waited for a few moments, finally pointing out a bit more sharply than intended, his pout deepening, “You realize that you’ve neither finished making a statement, nor posed a question,” his consternation evident when Greg’s lips quirked with mirth. 

As Mycroft’s eyes widened, half way to infuriated, Greg hastened to enlighten his companion before the imagined offense became a thing.  Taking both of Mycroft’s hands in his own he murmured, “Hey, hey, stand down killer, I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around the notion that you have no idea how fucking fascinating you are.”  Greg was gratified to see the instant and profound effect his words had on the man in front of him. But he wasn’t done, not by a long shot.  “Why have I wanted to kiss you, not just tonight, but for a very long time actually?” he asked rhetorically.   “That is simultaneously an easy and difficult question to answer.  But I’m happy to take a crack at it, since you asked.”  Yes, he was having a bit of fun with this now, but he didn’t think Mycroft would mind by the time he was done.  “First off, you’re scary smart.  Your mind works on a level that evolution probably won’t get what’s left of humanity to for hundreds, possibly thousands of years, if ever.  It has the processing power of a supercomputer and the insight and intuition of an oracle at Delphi.  Then there is the fact that you are drop dead gorgeous and sexy as fuck.  If I catalogued your myriad physical charms, we’d be here all night, so I’ll just stick to my personal favorites if you don’t mind.  Your eyes remind me of the sky, sometimes grey and cloudy, sometimes clear and pale blue.  Just now they’re quite dark, like the night sky.  You have legs for days and I’ve spent not a little time imagining what these long, delicate fingers can do.”  He raised said fingers to his lips fleetingly before continuing.  “I simply cannot discuss the topic of your graceful neck and this imperious jawline,” he drew an index finger along that neck and jawline, “without embarrassing the both of us, so the less said for now the better.  You wrap all that up in these bewitching bespoke suits that give me lots of naughty ideas.  You are ineffably poised and incalculably powerful at the same time. I doubt you’ve ever used all that dark power and behind the scenes influence for personal gain except maybe to get a table at Simpon’s-In The-Strand without a reservation six weeks in advance.  That’s really rare Mycroft.  And every once in a while, you let the mask you wear slip and I get a glimpse of the real Mycroft Holmes and it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.”  He paused a moment, not quite sure Mycroft was still fully listening.  Softly he finished, “But mostly I just want to kiss you.” In his head he appended, for the rest of my life.

Mycroft was still and silent, no doubt striving to process everything Greg had revealed.  Greg waited, watching carefully for signs that he was resurfacing.  Shamelessly taking advantage of the British Government’s temporary bewilderment, Greg gently caressed his hands, indulging his own desire to map every millimeter of Mycroft’s soft, pale skin.  With a sudden deep intake of breath, Mycroft returned.  He said nothing, simply gazed at Greg, clearly mystified.  Greg grinned at him, cheekily deducing, “Too much?”

Responding to the light hearted tone, Mycroft pursed his lips in a failed attempt to hide his delight.  The two men gazed at each other for another few seconds before they erupted in nervous giggles.  When their laughter had faded, Greg examined the man in front of him as nonchalantly as he knew how.  “Feeling better?”

Aware that he was being assessed, Mycroft arched an elegant eyebrow and asserted dryly, “Much.”  His own exceptional deductive abilities now back online, Mycroft tilted his head slightly, inquisitive.  “What?”

Greg knew he’d been rumbled by a master.  There _was_ something.  He had to be honest with this man, hoping he wouldn’t blow this chance that he’d never expected to get.  Best just share his concerns straightforwardly.  “I realize this may sound a bit fatuous under the circumstances…”

“Yes?”

“Technically, I’m still married.  Not to be presumptuous, but if you are at all interested in pursuing this, I would feel obliged to wait for the Decree Absolute.”  Registering Mycroft’s muted surprise, Greg clarified.  “Not out of any misplaced loyalty to Sharon.  Our marriage ended a long time ago really.  I just want to get that piece of paper that makes it all official before I do anything that involves another human being, have everything be above board, no reservations, no complications, only possibilities.  It’s something I feel I need to do for me, have all that firmly and finally in the past before beginning anything new.”  He bit his lip, praying that he hadn’t come across as a complete prig.  Maybe a sincere appeal would make a difference.  “Mycroft, I really, _really_ like you.  I have no idea what your situation is, whether you’re even looking for someone to spend time with, get to know better.  I know your vocation makes that kind of thing difficult if not nigh on impossible.  But if you want my two cents, it seems a damn shame for someone as remarkable and exquisite as you to be alone.  If you even are.  I mean, for all I know, you could have a partner in every port.  Not that I think you’re-“  He stopped before completing that thought. ”The point is I am absolutely interested in seeing you again, even platonically if that’s all you can offer.  Blokes like us, workaholics, don’t get many opportunities to just hang out, go to a show or a match, spend a weekend in the country or whatever.  John Watson is the only mate I have and he’s usually busier than I am.”  He was babbling.  _Jesus Greg, you used to be quite good at this.  Just wrap it up and let the poor man eat his dessert._ “I think I’m just going to shut up now.”  Without waiting for a response, he slipped away, convinced he’d just completely blown any chance he had.  _At least he likes my cooking._ Greg moved to stand by the fireplace, feeling more than a little dejected.

Mycroft stood in the same spot by the sofa, staring at the space recently occupied by the Inspector. Greg liked him. He really, _really_ liked him.  He’d said he was remarkable and exquisite.  Greg wanted him physically but that was only one aspect of his admiration. Far from being intimidated by the power he wielded or resentful of his unparalleled intelligence, Greg found those qualities to be alluring.  For the most fleeting of moments, he wondered if he were perhaps dreaming. The notion was dismissed instantly when he realized never in his wildest dreams could his subconscious have conjured this.  Well then.  He turned to look at Greg standing by the fireplace.  He seemed a bit forlorn.  That wouldn’t do. Mycroft quickly considered his options.  When his eyes fell upon the tray resting between the two chairs in front of the fireplace, his way forward became clear.  He walked over and stood by the tray and said, “What about that wager then?”

Greg turned to face him but did not quite meet his eye.  “Of course.  By all means.”

Mycroft knew he had to handle this with subtle diplomacy.  Gregory would surely sniff out any attempt at mollification. Gracefully taking the chair nearest him, Mycroft crossed his legs and waited with polite expectation.  His face clouded, Greg sank in to the other chair.  The diplomat’s heart broke for him a little.  At this moment his dearest wish was to convince the DI that he was open and more than to the idea of seeing him again and that the almost insignificant time delay was of no concern.  “I must say, this does look quite tempting Gregory.  As I’m sure you are aware, I, unlike my permanently vibrating sibling who has the metabolism of a hummingbird, must carefully monitor what I eat.  I rarely indulge like this so cavalierly.  I must ask that you do not divulge what went on here this evening in too much detail.”

 _He doesn’t want Sherlock to know about tonight._ Unwilling to think about what that meant, Greg focused on pouring a measure of brandy into the snifters on the tray.  Without offering one to his guest, he lifted a glass and took a large gulp. Mycroft floundered.  _Say something imbecile._ “Gregory, please, I-“

“It’s okay Mycroft, you don’t have to say it. I know I’ve read way too much in to one kiss.”

“How do you know that?”

‘”Well, you just told me not to say anything to Sherlock because you know he’ll tease you.”

“Only with regard to the decadent meal.  Should you wish to apprise my brother of the astonishing direction this evening has taken, I have no objection.”

“Like that’s gonna happen,” Greg huffed sarcastically.

“A wise choice.”

Greg decided enough was enough. “Look, just be honest with me Mycroft.  I can take it.”

“Are you certain?”  His host glared at him.  “As you wish.  The truth is I find I have underestimated you most egregiously.  For years I have known you to be a hard working police man who strives valiantly to stem the tide of venality, greed and self-aggrandizing aggression that threaten daily to overtake our fair city, oftentimes at great sacrifice.  You would need the patience of a saint to willingly allow my brother to traipse about your crime scenes, for which generosity you and your team are regularly subjected to his melodrama and ridicule.  You seem to have boundless compassion for other people regardless of any consideration other than their inherent humanity.  I have firsthand knowledge of your incorruptible nature and unassailable code of ethics.  You never expect nor seek anything for all your efforts save a regular paycheck.  You are selfless, sincere and straightforward, which makes you a very rare creature indeed.  Despite knowing all that, I now comprehend that there is a great deal more to learn about you Gregory Lestrade, something I very much wish to do.” 

Mycroft paused, moving into more uncharted terrain.  “I have also admired you from afar for quite some time.  It would embarrass me if you knew how frequently I found myself mesmerized by the twinkle in your eyes, or the cadence of your voice…or those dazzling smiles that can probably be seen from space.”  Mycroft paused.  How to say this next bit?  He took a bolstering breath.  “I recently had to excuse myself from a meeting during a delicate treaty negotiation at a most inopportune time because I received this text.”  He had already opened the message from his brother.  He held it up facing the policeman so he could easily read it. Mycroft watched Greg, paying close attention to his eyes.  They flicked from his face, to the phone and back to his face again.  Perhaps it was his steady gaze that convinced Greg he was sincere.  Again he saw Greg’s eyes shift to the phone in his hand.

_Lestrade filed for divorce.  Moving out.  Don’t blow it._

Mycroft gave him ample time to read the message several times before lowering it into his lap. “I am by no means immune to your stunning self.”  He swallowed as his throat constricted.  “Naturally, I kept my less than professional interest to myself.  It would have been quite selfish of me to do otherwise in light of your marital status.  Until now.  I have a great deal of respect for you Gregory and would never have placed you in such an untenable position.  I believe I understand your need to be completely free of the bond of matrimony before commencing even the most casual of attachments.  It is in your nature to do so and wholly honorable.  It is a condition I can happily agree to without reservation.  Indeed, I would wait a great deal longer for any chance to spend time with you in any way you wish.  I already have, without regret.  However, I would like to, if I may, suggest a compromise.  I estimate that the Decree Absolute will be finalized in approximately eight weeks.  If you are amenable, I propose that we find some activities of interest over the next two months that we can enjoy together, foregoing anything of a romantic tenor until we are both ready and agreed that is what we both want.”

Mycroft watched the copper, praying that his quiet paean to the man he had been pining after for several years hit the mark.  Those dark velvety eyes were trained on him, unblinking. He had not moved nor spoken since Mycroft had begun his speech.  Indeed, Mycroft was not sure that Gregory had even taken breath and was becoming a bit alarmed.  Just as he was about to lean forward to place a cautious hand on his knee, Gregory swallowed and blinked but remained silent.  A vaguely probative scan followed, mixed with a trace of doubt.  His eyes narrowed a little as Mycroft met his gaze, for once attempting to be as open as possible.  Without taking his eyes from the government official, he lifted the snifter still in his grasp to finish the aperitif, his scrutiny pausing for the briefest of moments.  Mycroft waited as the silence stretched out. What may have been only a minute or so felt like an eternity. 

Finally those eyes shifted downward as Greg carefully placed the empty glass on the tray and then picked up the tray and table, moving it back a few feet.  He looked at Mycroft then, his eyebrows raised.  “Are you going to finish that?”

It took the genius a few moments to realize that Gregory was referring to the drink forgotten in one hand.  Confused and shaken, Mycroft emptied the snifter and wordlessly handed it to him.  He watched, perplexed, as Greg set it down next to its mate before fixing him with what all those suspects must have faced during an interrogation.  “If any of what you just said is not the absolute truth, tell me now.”

Ah.  A calm came over Mycroft as he neither spoke nor moved.  He held the other man’s gaze with growing confidence.  “I mean it Mycroft.”

“As do I Gregory.” He replied without missing a beat.  “Every word.” 


	6. The First Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft reach an accord...of sorts.

_“If any of what you just said is not the absolute truth, tell me now.”_

_Ah.  A calm came over Mycroft as he neither spoke nor moved.  He held the other man’s gaze with growing confidence._

_“I mean it Mycroft.”_

_“As do I Gregory.” He replied without missing a beat.  “Every word.”_

This time it was the older man who moved decisively, launching himself at Mycroft.  The politician was pinned in place as Lestrade’s lips crashed onto his, strong hands gripping his upper arms firmly.  He was helpless against the assault as Greg climbed on to the chair, straddling his lap.  His legs uncrossed and were pushed down as Greg moved in closer, sinking on to Mycroft’s knees.  Enveloped in the muscular thighs he’d dreamt of and daydreamed about, a groan escaped him, only to be swallowed by Gregory’s invading tongue.  Of their own volition, his hands moved to grasp Greg’s hips, pulling him even closer before sliding around to his enticing bottom, squeezing enthusiastically.

When Greg broke the kiss to drag in several heavy breaths, Mycroft straightened to press his open mouth directly on top of Greg’s pulse point, sucking gently while inhaling deeply through his nose, intoxicated by the earthy, smoky cloud surrounding him.  Greg hissed in his ear, one hand moving to grab Mycroft’s hair, tugging his head back so his mouth was more easily claimed again.  Several minutes elapsed as they greedily took their pleasure from the other, spurred on by the knowledge that their passion was returned.  When Greg’s hands dropped to fumble with his belt, Mycroft stilled.  Knowing he might regret his next words to an incalculable degree, he huffed, “What about-“

“Sod it,” Greg grunted, undeterred. 

But Mycroft could not.  Moving his own hands to cover Greg’s he tried again.  “Wait, Gregory, wait.” Although he really didn’t want to, Greg stopped, tensing slightly.  Without meeting his gaze, Mycroft soldiered on.  “Please understand, I only wish to ensure that you have absolutely no regrets as we go forward.  While I can think of nothing I want more at this moment than to carry you in to the next room and take you apart piece by piece, I cannot risk doing anything that might cast a shadow over the beginning of what I believe could be the best thing that ever happened to either of us.”  He glanced at the other man, knowing his words were landing.  “No reservations, right?”  He wanted to make absolutely certain Greg was in no doubt of his true feelings on this topic.  “When I fuck you, I want nothing between us Gregory.”

Greg was quiet for a bit before he responded.  “Eight weeks, huh?”

“Maybe sooner.”

“Hmmmmmm.  I can’t really object since it was my idea, can I?”  Mycroft knew the question was rhetorical.  “Me and my big mouth.”  With a deep sigh, Greg slid off Mycroft’s lap and retrieved the tray he had set aside earlier.  Making a show of opening a serviette with a snap, he placed it daintily over Mycroft’s thighs after he had resettled himself a bit more comfortably. With a little bow, he handed a chunky ceramic bowl and a spoon to the other man.  “Keep in mind it’s been sitting out for a while.”

Mycroft waited patiently as Lestrade settled himself in the other chair, silently grateful as Greg picked up the decanter and poured a small measure of brandy in to each snifter.  Settling the decanter down, he looked up at Mycroft.  “Okay Sunshine, it’s the moment of truth.”

Mycroft smiled decorously as he scooped a small portion of the confection on his spoon.  “This looks amazing Gregory.  It’s been ages since I’ve had an entremet cake.”

Greg’s eyes were focused on the spoon, a slight scowl in evidence.  “I realize you probably like to take dainty little bites, but there’s a lot riding on this so I’m gonna need you to dig deep, literally. In fact…”  Leaning forward, Greg took his spoon and carefully separated a small cross section of the eight layer creation, ensuring that Mycroft experienced the full effect.  He held up the loaded spoon.  “Ready?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened as he realized that Greg intended to feed it to him.  “Oh, okay.”  He leaned forward and opened his mouth, feeling vulnerable.  A moment later his slight unease was forgotten as the first flavors burst on to his taste buds.  His eyes fluttered closed as he took the confection from the spoon.  There were so many flavors combined together, each complementing the last and the next.  Chocolate was the primary ingredient but Mycroft also detected cinnamon, coffee, vanilla, just a hint of pear and something else he could not quite define, although it was quite familiar.  Suddenly he detected a subtle spiciness and something a little salty.  Besides the mousse, there was a heavier, chewier base, a layer of moist cake and…is that mascarpone cream?  He found himself happily crunching at a fine crumble that tasted like butter and rum and caramel. Simply put, it was the most delicious and delectable gateau he had ever tasted. 

His eyes flew open to be met with the rather smug regard of one Gregory Lestrade.  He had settled back in the other chair, watching Mycroft a bit greedily.  Mycroft covered his mouth, slightly self-conscious as he could not keep himself from laughing out loud.  Not one of your patented, polite, insincere politician’s chuckles, but a deep, honest, joy filled belly laugh.  When he could speak, all he could manage was, _“Gregory!”_

The policeman’s laughter joined his.  Practically bouncing in his seat, like a kid with a big bowl of ice cream, Mycroft jubilantly finished every last bite of the entremet, with relish.  Gregory almost could not believe what he was seeing.  Never in all the years he’d been dealing with Sherlock and pining for Mycroft had he seen the British Government so unguarded and carefree.  For once stripped of the aura of power and authority, he seemed almost childlike in contrast.  _I want more of this.  I want more of him like this._ Feeling something quite like awe, Gregory promised himself he would do whatever he could to give this man more moments like this.

Mycroft fell back in to his chair, completely blissed out.  Gregory’s mind went offline for a little bit.  When he came to, Mycroft was looking at him with new eyes.  He arched an eyebrow and drawled, “That, Gregory, is a work of art.”

Still a bit dazed, Greg simply asked, “Does that mean I won the bet?”

Mycroft looked at him like he was a juicy steak.  Leaning forward, he dropped his voice to a seductive timber before observing, “You knew you had already won when you suggested it.”

Greg took a deep breath.  “Mycroft, if you do that again, we won’t make it two minutes much less two whole months.”

Mycroft simply smirked at him flirtatiously and continued to leer openly.  Greg opened his eyes wide at the other man reprovingly.  The smirk shifted into a rather self-satisfied grin as Mycroft sat back, fiddling with his serviette coquettishly.  “Apologies.  You’re quite right. So we’re agreed then?” he added almost casually.  “Nothing romantic or…sexual in nature until after you have obtained your Decree Absolute.”

Now it was Gregory’s turn to smirk as he said, “You knew I’d agree to it when you proposed it.”  He may have made his voice a smidge huskier than it otherwise might have been.  But that smug bastard totally deserved a little turnabout.  He was slightly gratified to see the graceful motion of Mycroft’s hands stutter fleetingly. 

Mycroft was obliged to clear his throat before he could respond.  “Touché Inspector.”  They sat quietly for a minute, sipping brandy until Mycroft inquired, “So what will you claim as your prize Gregory?”

Mycroft watched, both amused and flattered as his host’s complexion once again flushed with color and his lopsided grin became positively salacious.  “Well, I had planned to demand a kiss, but I guess I’ll have to have a bit of a rethink.  But don’t worry.  I’ll come up with something appropriately suitable.  And suitably appropriate.”

Mycroft had to suppress a strong urge to giggle at Gregory’s silliness.  He felt positively giddy, an emotion he had not experienced in years.  Determined to retain his composure for the remainder of his visit, he sat up straighter, crossed his legs gracefully and lifted the snifter.  He took a sip of the liqueur before glancing up at Lestrade.  “Please don’t think me impertinent, but I simply must know what the sponge cake was flavored with.  It’s the only element I could not identify.”

Greg’s smile reflected the pride he felt at having stumped the discerning Mycroft Holmes.  “Any guesses before I tell you?”

Mycroft was obliged to shake his head.  “It was so familiar, but elusive.  Please, enlighten me.”

“I mixed the cake batter with Assam tea instead of water.”

“Of course.  Simply ingenious Gregory.  My compliments to a most skilled chef.  Should you ever wish to retire from the police force and dedicate yourself to the creation of such delicacies as this, I would be honored if you would allow me to bankroll the operation, perhaps set you up in a small pastry shop.  Strictly as a silent partner.”

Greg’s expressive countenance reflected barely suppressed gratification at the initial complement, then showed amusement and delight at Mycroft’s generous offer and ended with a decidedly fervent glare as he replied. “Mycroft, if you and I ever become partners of any kind, I assure you, you will be the polar opposite of silent.”

Mycroft had to look away as a spike of pure lust flowed through him.  All moisture in his mouth evaporated instantly as his pale skin was infused with heat and color.  Gripping the arms of the chair tightly, he pointedly cleared his throat as he strove to regain some semblance of control over his emotions as well as his person.  Greg surreptitiously catalogued these responses in his guest while he pretended not to gloat, just a little. 

This did not escape Mycroft’s notice.  Fixing his gaze somewhere to the right of Greg’s shoulder he intoned, “Enough of that now Detective Inspector.  While I am happy to agree to your terms, I must insist that we enter in to a truce of sorts wherein neither of us attempts to elicit certain...responses in the other.  Do we have an accord?”

Feeling a trifle guilty, Greg shifted in his chair.  “I’m sorry Mycroft.  That was out of line.  I promise to keep all banter family friendly for the foreseeable future.  In fact, let me make it up to you by packing up some of the entremet to take home along with the soup.”

Relaxing a little and meeting Greg’s eyes again, Mycroft graced the other man with a genuine smile.  “I accept both your apology and your kind offer.”

After Mycroft had departed, Greg meticulously checked the house and grounds, locking up and collecting the rest of the detritus from the party.  His thoughts were a bit scattered as he made his way around the ground floor again, turning off the lights.  Shrouded in darkness, he activated the security system, isolating his suite of rooms.  Returning to the lounge, he scooped up his mobile and cigarettes. Stepping outside, he lowered himself to the small stoop.  As he savored a solitary cigarette he tried to calm his disorderly emotions.  Striving to keep his musings about Mycroft in check, Greg focused on possible activities they could enjoy together that would allow them to get to know each other better without the distractions of romance or sex.  He knew that the next two months would be challenging, particularly now that they both knew the other was already more than half in the bag, so to speak.  They were each going to have to practice a great deal of self-control to keep things on a platonic footing.  He felt that this time would give them both a more solid basis on which to build.  Mycroft had said that he would wait a lot longer than a couple of months if it meant a chance to spend time with him, even without the possibility of something more than friendship.  It was terribly flattering and thrilling but Greg was determined to proceed carefully.  He didn’t want anything to screw this up.  He had never expected to get this once-in-a-lifetime chance to get closer to Mycroft in any way.  Now that he had it, he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to maybe someday have his dearest wish become reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, this is definitely a slow burn Mystrade. I've begun Part Two but am not very far along. I'll post as each chapter is ready rather than after it's completed. I hope some of you will be joining me for the ride.


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